Anatomy of a Plan
by Katzenherrin
Summary: Sometimes, things are not what they appear - It's all a matter of perspective. Older Sakura/FOM Kakashi.
1. Volume 1

**A.N.:** As found in my journal.

I'll just leave this here...

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><p><em><strong>Anatomy Of A Plan <strong>_

_A dissertation in three acts  
><em>

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><p><strong>ooooOo0o0oOoooo<strong>

**| Vol 1 of 3 |**

**ooooOo0o0oOoooo**

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><p><strong>Rating:<strong> Mature

**Word Count (Total):** 15.000~~

**Summary:** Sometimes things are not what they appear to be - It's all a matter of perspective.

**Pairing:** Kakashi/Sakura

**Genre:** Shameless PWP. Err, I mean: Romance

**Disclaimer:** If it was mine, trust me: you would notice the difference.

**WARNING**

_Edit: This is a very heavy piece, with strong language, and what can be perceived as a wiff of non-con: There is a reason why I decided to post all three chapters at once. Like the summary states, somethings are not what they seem to be... _

_Still, I realise I was at fault at not making this warning earlier, and I apologize for it. It was never my intention to hurt susceptibilities - this was an exercise of writing intended to be a "rollercoaster emotional trip", but I was most definitely at fault for lack of warnings._

_That being said, I wish you enjoy._

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><p><strong>ooooOo0o0oOoooo<strong>

**Act 1 – Preparation**

Darkness licked by the low lights on the small bar served her well, her skin seemingly glowing in the eerie ambiance.

Her pink locks gained an almost purplish hue, with highlights as she passed under a light fixture, her motions graceful, regardless of every sip of alcohol that had passed her lips – that he imagined twirling around her tongue before sliding down her throat, the soft motion of her neck as she did, and for a moment, the imagery of that same swallowing motion, but dry, as her neck arched filled his mind. His jaw stiffened under the second skin of cotton that covered his face.

Her viridian eyes shone as if made of glass filled with the fieriest of beverages in stock at the bar, a hard shell of emerald that hid inside liquid heat which promised to wipe away reason and replace it with fire running through one's veins at a single sip.

She smiled, openly, little laughs that he could hear, crystal clear for he was drinking in everything that came from her.

Watching, in what people could call a predatory way if the glances were seen by someone who truly knew him, understood the path of his thoughts. Fortunately, there weren't people like that around – did such people even exist?— so he continued watching with the same calculation as if he was surveying a worthy opponent – an elusive prey – in intense glances, under the guise of the perpetual droopy-eyed look and the slouch of his back as he sat at the bar.

He wasn't inebriated: at least not by the alcohol that ran in the midst of another celebration of a successful mission, another enemy defeated.

She sat, comfortably over the side of one of the long benches at one of the booths, parted legs, one of them curling the side of it, foot in a tiptoed position, making the material of her knee-high boot tense. Powerful yet slender muscles attesting her strength, the sight of the pale skin of her thigh before it was snugly enveloped by dark stretching material seemingly mocking him, teasing him, tempting.

She leant over the table, her arm coming to finger flick the nose of a very drunk Naruto, eliciting a couple of laughs from the other occupants of the table, as he snapped back and nursed it with his hands, giving her time to swipe the little cup in front of him with the back of her hand towards Ino, who promptly drowned it in one gulp, followed by cheers as she slammed the cup over the table.

Sakura sat back with a devious little smirk on her lips that made his own curl upwards for an instant, before dropping in a heartbeat—no, a lurch, for she crossed her arms under her breasts, bare arms pulling them together snugly and again for a second only, her taste, the texture of them almost filled his tongue, with the aid of the devious portion of his mind.

All the conventions of society had long lost their meaning. The idea that she was unapproachable and forbidden to him had all but been smothered: it had been destroyed, and with it, so had his restraint when thinking about the pink-haired kunoichi, the Godaime's pupil, his ex-student; the now also yukata wearing full grown woman.

She was still forbidden. It was still taboo. But he didn't care. Not anymore. There was no point now.

He continued watching as she continued tempting him, and the warmth, one that alcohol could never deliver swam in his veins, as his mind contemplated the plan that filled it to the brim, spilling the heat to every part of him. That lone onyx eye wasn't shining due to the soft light to his right: no, it was shining with barely suppressed want.

He turned around, the cup in his hand coming to his lips, but the heady-scented liquid never passed his mask. He set it on the bar once more and if anyone was paying attention to him, they would see that it was unusually full.

A soft prickling sensation on the back of his neck made him stiffen imperceptibly as he felt, smelt and sensed her stop less than four steps behind him: her voice again ringing in his ears, every word as clear as if she had been speaking directly into them.

"I'm off people; need to catch up on some things. Namely my bed."

There were protests from the majority of them – one that he recognized as being the damned Inuzuka brat who had been dogging her all night– but she paid them no heed, reiterating her will and need to slide into her sheets.

The Inuzuka bluntly asked if she needed someone to walk her home – and he considered how satisfying it would be to chuck his head against a wall and feel it crack under his grip, as he clenched his jaw once more. Suddenly, a sound slap and a grunt came from the general direction of the table, as laughter erupted again, the loudest from the kyuubi container, who by the sound of it was nearly choking in mirth.

He steeled himself from looking back, charcoal gaze sliding to the stained mirror across from him instead, catching a glimpse of the pink haired woman on it, between two full bottles, half hidden by someone behind him. Her hand up in a little wave and a soft shake of her head, before her eyes set on his back and she moved closer, hips swaying with two steps before he let his eye drop to the surface of the sake he had still in his cup.

He had been expecting her hand on his shoulder, for her to speak to him – to say she was leaving, to wish him goodnight. But she didn't.

He frowned as he sensed her passing by him – '_Grab her now, to hell with everyone else_'— the trail of her scent pushed towards him, over the other odours surrounding them. She was leaving. It took every little bit of willpower he possessed to keep his eye glued to the stained surface of the wooden counter. _'Patience.'_

No one noted that less than five minutes after Haruno Sakura left, Hatake Kakashi's stool at the bar was vacant, a lone cup still filled to the brim with sake the only evidence that he had in fact been there.

**ooooOo0o0oOoooo**

**Act 2 ****1/2****– Execution**

Sakura heaved in relief as she slid the key on the keyhole of her front door. There was a dwindling tension in the night air, but if she acknowledged it, it wasn't evident. She pushed the door open, moonlight streaming lazily inside the small hallway and illuminating another pair of knee high boots softly tilting towards the wall. She stepped inside, throwing her keys in a little bowl on the small table she had under the coat-rack, making a high clattering sound as she raised her right leg, one hand still over the doorknob, the other coming down to unclasp the first bind of her boot.

Only the first, for she suddenly sensed a presence behind her – weirdly without a chakra signature – making her look back, her eyes widening slowly the longer she stared, her foot lowering to the floor.

She blinked after a couple of seconds, recognizing the silhouetted figure cut by moonlight, her heart drumming in her chest due to his prolonged silence – or maybe it was due to the look he was giving her paired up with the realisation he had been masking his presence until that very moment. She turned to fully face him, her hand on the doorknob leaving it.

If she appeared not to sense the tension before, she did now. Her tongue came to pass over her lips as she gulped – a motion he followed with reverent interest – before she spoke, quietly.

"Kakashi-sensei?"

He didn't respond; instead he took a step closer and one couldn't help tagging the motion — as another step was given — as being dangerous. The permanent slouch was gone: his gait gracefully predatory, the droopy gaze seemingly fiercer, fixated on her own orbs. Her hand closest to the door snapped to the side of it as she gave a step forward, half hiding herself behind the wood.

"…Ka…Kakashi-sensei, is everything alright?" She stuttered softly, her green eyes glued on his masked face, as he stopped less than a step from her.

"No." The tone in which that word came out reverberated through her very bones. The deep baritone voice seemed deeper, fuller – purposefully low. _Enticing._ She gulped again, brow knitting in a confused expression when his hand set on the door, his gloved palm pressing against it.

Her eyes that had followed the motion snapped back to his, her heartbeat picking up, as she sensed the soft pressure of his hand strengthen, pushing the door against her, making her step back once. And again, for the look on his eye was speaking of things that made something clench viciously in the pit of her stomach.

"Huh… I… Kakashi—"

"You left."

She blinked in surprise at his tone, thrown off by his words: he took the opportunity to give one more step, passing the strip of metal that marked the beginning of her hallway and pushing the door as he went, making her step back still keeping the door half shielding her form, green eyes subtly shining even in darkness, and suddenly her heaving chest stopped the moment her back met the wall.

"Kakashi-sensei, I... I don't understand…"

She looked like a frightened child with eyes wide and her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, the hand still rolled about the side of the door clenching as her arm pressed over the upper side of her breasts. His fingers slid on the door's surface until they also met the side of it at the same time as a step, positioning him in front of her, his digits rolling on it like hers were, and pulling it towards him. Her fingers tightened on the wood but he gave a stronger jerk that made her gasp and relinquish her grip.

There was the outline of a smirk under the mask as he stepped sideways and all but threw the door closed — it was uncanny how he had given it just enough momentum to allow it to close without a bang.

Shocked was not enough to describe her expression, soon replaced by a weary one. She shifted against the wall. It was amazing that she hadn't snapped at him for his weird behaviour, or maybe it _was_ the fact that he was acting so… _strange _that kept her anger at bay. She gulped again as her eyes totally accustomed to the sudden lack of light.

"What do you mean I left…What is wrong with you Kakashi-sensei?" She breathed out, her hands flat against the wall, her lean body tense — flight or fight mode.

"Everything." He answered in that low tone that made her breath hitch in her throat.

"I don't…" She bit her lip nervously, her eyes dancing from his face to the end of the hallway and back at him. "…What did you mean when you said…I left?" She repeated the previous query nervously.

One of his hands rose to set on the wall, fairly close to her shoulder that shrugged slightly, successfully caging her in and cutting off any escape route she had thought of taking. Her mouth suddenly went dry as she kept her eyes on him.

There was only an arm's length between their bodies, making it impossible for either of them not to feel the other's warmth.

"I was at the bar. You left." He accused, causing her eyebrows to furrow.

"I didn't see you—"

"Don't lie to me Sakura." He cut her off - the warning rumbled deep in his throat causing goosebumps to spread over her visible skin.

"I…" Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she tried to find her words - it was as if they were swimming out of reach. She dropped her gaze to his shoulder. "I… I'm sorry, it… I… it's not that big of a deal sens—"

"Don't." He hissed. It was more efficient than any shout could have been yet just as fierce as one.

"I don't understand…" She whispered before biting her lip again. His lone onyx eye followed the motion, the sight making the hand on the wall clench. "…why you are so angry at me over this. Why… why you came here to…" She derailed, shifting uncomfortably in her spot.

"Why are you here?" She fixed him with a confused look, eyebrows furrowed. "What do you want, sensei?"

His other hand rose to join the one against the wall as he stepped forward, both of them sliding up until his forearms set over it - gloved hands at each side of her head, making her press her body firmly against the surface as he leaned towards her. The drumming in her chest picked up again and kept the pace high as his scent swirled around her, his warmth touching her before his masked cheek did hers: covered lips ghosting over her ear, his breath disturbing the soft strands of pink hair.

"I want you to stop calling me sensei." She stiffened at the murmured words, barely audible since her mind was tracking the spider web pattern of goosebumps that spread from the place his breath was hitting her ear and enveloped her torso. Her lids dropped over glazed emerald orbs, her hands over the wall fisting. "I want…_you._"

She expected him to continue: for the rest of the sentence to come, but it never did — there was no rest.

The realisation made her breath stop, and not only from the certainty it was filled with: there was something else - something deeper, darker, and so incredibly primal in those words that it made that little feeling in the pit of her stomach flare higher. Her breathing quickened, heaving chest brushing along the pockets of his vest, teasing her swelling and suddenly constricted bosoms.

"You can't… possibly… mean… Kakashi-sen—" The honorific never left her lips; in its stead a little whimper ripped its way from them, barely audible in the dark hallway, as his still covered lips brushed along the shell of her ear, sending another wave of sensation coursing through her veins. Her eyelids fluttered before she caught herself. "Kakashi, I… we… You are my sensei! I… you… This is wrong!"

Her hands rose, trying to shove him back – why she didn't think of using her chakra-enhanced strength was a mystery – but the push on his shoulders did nothing to deter him, quite the opposite; his right hand on the wall snapped down and rolled around her neck, not choking her but in a good position to do so, making her fingers on his shoulders flex in a claw. Her eyes widened at the feeling of leather pressed against her tender neck, his mouth still lingering close to her ear.

"I don't care if it's wrong or right. I want you." His knee nudged hers once and then pushed forcefully when she tried to squeeze them together. "All of you. I want to see, touch, and _taste_ every little patch of skin you never show in public. I want to rip sounds from your throat that were never heard before." His voice was rough and—_gods_! It was so warm against her skin. She whimpered – deliciously so, his mind prompted – her knees weak and yielding to him. He pressed his upper thigh against her, and again one more mouth-watering sound rose from her throat, vibrating against his hand. "I am tired of watching you from afar, tempting me. I want it all, having a right to or not. I can't stay away from you anymore Sakura. And since I am already going to Hell, at least I will claim the right to be in it fully. I will be damned, but you will rise to Heaven by my hands, mouth and—"

A set of three rapid knocks suddenly echoed in the narrow hallway, making both of them stiffen.

**ooooOo0o0oOoooo**

**Act 2 ****2/2**** – Execution: Complications Management**

He masked his chakra automatically, his hand snapping to her mouth as his head moved to face the door, black-grey eye squinted. One of her hands snapped down from his shoulder to grab his wrist, trying to tug his hand away from her, to no avail - his good eye came back to her and the terribly angered stare made her flinch. His eyebrows creased at the sight before a soft smile formed under the stretchy fabric of his mask; his other hand came slowly to his face, index pressing against covered lips in a silent request for her to keep quiet.

Her chest heaved rapidly as she kept stealing glances at the door and the man in front of her; feminine hand loosely rolled about his wrist still, her exhales warming the leather that covered his hand. He could still feel the presence on the other side of the door – he was sure she could too – and he recognized the signature of it, as he did the majority of Konoha's shinobi. The tension in his body only escalated the longer the presence stayed there.

What he had planned was sure to elicit plenty of _noise_ - and he wasn't in the mood to be interrupted by someone with a knight-in-shining-armour momentary drive.

He leaned towards her again as another set of knocks came, now paired up with an all too familiar – and frankly annoying in silver-haired man's view – voice, muffled by the closed door:

"Sakura? Sakura… are ya home?"

Inuzuka Kiba was knocking on her door, at inappropriate times of the evening, when thinking she was alone at her apartment. That made the anger in Kakashi rise in ways he wasn't really sure he could handle, the green-eyed monster that had prompted the view of the damned brat's skull hitting any surface available at the bar doing the same now. His lips pressed full against her ear, trying his best not to lose himself in the sweet scent coming from her roseate locks as he murmured as low as he could manage, since the Inuzuka had ears as sharp as he did.

"Get rid of him."

It was rasped and quiet, beautifully melting into the background sounds: she was sure she had only heard it for the vibrations of his words had been picked up by the intricate natural design of her ear. Her hand on his wrist clenched there, as she tried to jerk away from him, but the strong thigh still between her legs forced against her apex again, the moan that would have slipped out trapped inside her covered lips.

"Get rid of him, or I will, and I'm not planning on being all too gentle about it. He pisses me off."

She stiffened again, her eyes wide, moving to him but only catching the silver locks since he hadn't moved away from her. She tried to nod, difficult task due to his hand still over her lips, her body relaxing as if to say she wouldn't try anything else but follow what he said to her.

Her hand on his wrist slid over his arm, her palm gracing his forearm, pushing the rolled sleeve further up until the side of her hand hit the bundled up fabric against his flexed bicep.

He finally moved back, sensing her motions, and leant away, but not before one more rub of his thigh against her middle. His eye locked with hers, squint in warning, as he slid his hand down her face, watching as her full bottom lip yielded with the downward motion of his hand before it stopped about her chin: his hand moving for fingertips to curl, caressing her lips as they went.

The touch on her lips, even by such an innocent part of his body, was felt in a way that was everything but sinless. It was as if her body recognized the touch, her lips parting minimally, her bottom one hinting moistness that was sure to grace his skin. It did and his smile crashed, charcoal orb trained on the sight, as his fingers ended their journey by curling under her chin, pushing it up.

Again that fire flared, both in his eye and on her apex, eliciting the first real cramp of undeniable desire on her intimacy. For a moment, they stayed that way, as he watched her puffs of breath slide between her lips — as he eyed them hungrily. That look doing incredibly wonderful things to her body, to her heart, to the skin of her breasts which tightened, roughing the darker peaks that almost hurt against the constriction of her brassiere.

In that moment, there were only the two of them. The pink haired woman pressed against the wall, one hand wrapped over the tight black sweater at his shoulder, the other clenching on his arm as he kept her chin in his grasp, tilted up to face him fully. The silver-haired older man, leaning down ever so slightly, his chest moving evenly, breath deep, clashing against her face and making her pink tongue slide over her upper lip, in want or nervousness, one couldn't tell.

Maybe it was both.

Another knock – the moment was lost. There were no growls of annoyance, even if Kakashi seemed ready to murder something, as one of his hands came to her hip: the heel of his palm digging against her hipbone forcefully, making her flinch from the feeling by tilting her hip away from it, his fingers rolling about her waist, his arm moving and making turn in her spot, before he pressed her back fully against his front, his arm pressed against her abdomen, his other hand coming to clamp over her mouth again. In good time, for the feeling of hardness pressing snugly against her backside elicited yet another would-be sound in her throat, and her shoulder curled as his nose pressed against the back of the shell of her ear between the roseate locks of her hair.

"Do it. Don't try to warn him of anything." He warned again, before pivoting on his right leg, bringing her with him and walking to the door, the softest of grunts more felt than heard by her.

His own physical reaction rubbed against her, making her eyelids flutter as his thighs pressed on the back of hers. Her hand came to the doorknob at the same time his left her mouth, the hand clasped over her hip moving from it as his arm slid away—but it didn't quite made it off her.

Her hand on the knob tightened, as his hand swerved in its path when reaching the middle of her pelvis, the dark shorts' crotch grazed by his fingers – his little finger hooked on the slit of her skirt, had pulled it away – before his hand groped her over clothing, the response in form of an enthusiastic throb both of his hardened length against the cleft of her backside, and of her by now swollen lower lips, suddenly warmer due to the rough touch. Her left leg shifted its position, squeezing his hand between her thighs, making it clench, tips of fingers in a circled motion.

She kept the moan from escaping by sheer willpower. He wasn't sure if he was impressed, or miffed by it. Two seconds passed, before she realised he wasn't going to let her go. Her expression was frozen somewhere between confused exhilaration and slight anger. Once a breath was drawn inside her lungs, for a question to exit, he answered it, almost as if it had been expected.

"Bend over." Two simple, roughly spoken, vibrating words against her ear again, making something jump – the abnormal beat of her heart, a rattling gasp in her airways, the increasingly humid sleeve of her womanhood – as she found herself again frozen stiff, and yet almost melting.

She gulped, as she bent her torso towards the opening space of the door, and turned the knob, her heart drumming in her chest so loud she was afraid it would be heard by her late night visitor. And that wasn't an option at this point: she hoped the Inuzuka had already left.

She opened the door, only her head poking out and visible, as she regarded the young man at her doorstep. Akamaru was nowhere to be seen. He swayed softly and smiled when he saw her. And what a sight she was indeed with her hair in mild disarray, pupils dilated and a delicious blush crossing her cheeks.

"Hi." He started. "Took ya long to open tha door." A widening of his smile, as it morphed to something a little more suggestive. "Were ya in bed?"

Back on the other side of the door, Kakashi barely suppressed a growl in annoyance at the brat's words, choosing to inspect the sight presented to him. He had told her to bend over to keep him from being seen by the dog-boy, but the position proved itself to be more provocative than he had thought it could: the way her backside pressed against his own arousal so damned perfectly giving birth to a derail of his mind.

"Hi Kiba. Well, y…yes, I… I was in bed already. What are you doing here?" The words stumbled across her tongue in their rush.

His other hand slid over the small of her back, pushing it down ever so slightly; her words registering in his mind as another portion of it fantasized.

_What would she do, if he pulled her shorts and underwear down her legs, right this instant? If he knelt behind her, and tasted what he could already sense wafting up his nostrils, even with the barrier of cotton…_

"Are ya ok Sakura? You seem a little…"

_Or instead eased himself into her warmth—no… shoved mercilessly, for he was more than certain of her readiness…_

The telltale of the moist of her folds starting to sip through her clothing was teasing the tips of his fingers, which twitched against her covered centre at the scenario rolling in his head.

"I…" Pause. "…f..fine. Huh... Kiba, this is really not the time to… visit anyone."

_Would she be able to keep her voice from crying out? Would her hand on the doorknob clench up to the point it would tear off under her grip? Would her legs spread wider to accommodate him?_

"Oh! I know… I was just making sure ya came home safely and all.. Ya sure ya're alright?" His tone was clearly doubtful. "It looks like you…" And now he sounded almost risqué. "You know, if you're alone and all…"

_Would she shut her door in the damned Inuzuka's face, while he took what he so clearly wanted right under his nose, against the door he was standing in front of? He could almost see it, her cheek pressing against the door, the arch of her back as her legs tensed…_

"Kiba! You… Just leave. You're drunk out of your mind." She managed, albeit breathlessly. "Just go home, sleep it off."

…_give some howls to the damned dog-boy, by the force of his hips: rip them from her throat._

"But…"

_Against the God.__**damned.**__**door**__…!_

"Inuzuka Kiba, go away before I kick your ass! I swear to God!" Her voice was trembling.

He didn't know if it was from fear of Kiba pressing the subject, or from the stronger grip he had on her core, as his middle and ring fingers moved softly over the increasingly wet shorts. The fabric of his mask was starting to bother him as the imagery, both real and imaginary, was not only warming his body now: it was burning him, as he pushed against her, yearning for some semblance of relief — hand still against the small of her back, heel of his palm digging on the soft curve — rubbing his aching erection in mock thrusts against the roundness of her backside, snugly nested between his hips.

Perfect_ fit._

"Alright, alright! But ya know, when you want…" He heard her huff – or maybe it was a choked whimper – at the same time steps were heard moving away, not without a little shuffling. Her back was trembling, keeping the same position as she watched him walk away.

As soon as Kakashi heard the Inuzuka's feet hit the metallic steps of the stairs, his hand slid swiftly over her back as he leant forward, spreading fingers the moment they reached the middle of her shoulder blades to delve inside her hair, in a loose grip over her locks. She gasped, her hand on the doorknob shoving the door closed, as her other set on the little wall space next to it.

"Kakashi…" It was barely a whisper, rough. He decided he liked that tone.

Stepping closer, he pressed himself on her making her arms flex as she shuffled her feet closer to the door, until her left toe hit it: a grind making her nails scrape the wooden surface, the prickling feeling on her scalp coaxing her heart to violently thump against her ribcage as he pulled – not enough to hurt, but leading her head back to set over his shoulder, her neck arching back before the fingers entangled in her hair slid to her chin, to keep her there, thumb swiping over her bottom lip.

She could feel his warm breath fanning across her collarbones, the front of the short yukata dishevelled, his covered lips against her neck, and dear lord: she could feel his teeth scrapping over her jawbone. She could feel him swaying against her; she could feel his breath pushing his front against her back, the hand still clasped on her core relinquishing its hold as it came up, fully intent in coming up the top of her shorts.

Maybe it was panic, maybe it was due to the overwhelming sensations rippling throughout her, the rhythmic clench on her inner walls: she suddenly stiffened, her hand on the sidewall pressing against it, her bicep clenching, with the aid of a little chakra and then releasing the tension on her muscle like a coil.

"NO!" She barked, as she felt the impact of his back against the wall and a huffed groan leaving him with the force of it, his hold on her loosening: she took the little window of opportunity and bolted down the hallway.

It was a moot point to run from the Copy-Ninja, but it seemed she was willing to try it anyway, her heart thundering in her ears, breathing ragged as she reached the end of the hallway as it expanded into her living room. She looked back, flushed cheeks, her hair wiping across her face, when her right knee collapsed from under her after a miscalculated step, making her topple forward, hands snapping in front of her bracing for impact, her eyes barely able to see the scrunched up side of her living room carpet before her hands hit the floor, preceded by her knees.

She couldn't hear him, couldn't sense him anymore either, as she tried scrambling back to her feet, probably intent on the living room's open veranda door, right hand coming to the surface of the coffee table she had fallen close to in order to give her momentum for her rising, grunting as she pushed her left foot on the floor in an almost tiptoed position.

But before she managed to stand, she felt something grabbing her ankle, and pulling her back, forcing a little yelp past her lips as her eyes widened. Her hand slid on the surface of the table, fingers slipping at the edge of it before rolling on one of the intricate crafted legs that support it, giving it a jerk as she was pulled back once again, making a couple of trinkets fall to the ground, muffled sounds against the carpet.

It is a moot point to run from the Copy-Ninja indeed: he had caught her.

**(End of Volume 1)**

Edit: This is a very heavy piece, with what can be perceived as wiff of non-con and strong language. There is a reason why I decided to post all three chapters at once. Like the summary states, somethings are not what they seem to be...


	2. Volume 2

_**Anatomy Of A Plan**_

_A dissertation in three acts_

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><p><em><strong>ooooOo0o0oOoooo<strong>  
><em>

**| Vol 2 of 3 |**

**ooooOo0o0oOoooo**

* * *

><p><strong>ooooOo0o0oOoooo<strong>

**Act 2 2/2 – Execution: Complications Management (continued)**

Her free leg shot out, trying to hit him blindly, but he avoided it; his hand clamping over the side of that knee, locking her motion and pushing down and upwards, the burning sensation of the side of her knee sliding roughly over the carpet making her hiss as he crawled over her. She could hear the haggard breathing that hit her nape point blank.

The position was as animalistic as one can be: she laying on the floor, one hand still clamped on the leg of the coffee table, her other clawing at the carpet, her right leg flexed at her side, as his knee on the carpet prevented her from straightening it as it was pressed against the back of hers, his other knee on the space in the middle of her legs, and both his hands snapping to her wrists, pinning them to the floor, as he pressed his chest on her back, efficiently keeping her sprawled against the carpet.

"Stop fighting me Sakura." He almost growled, as she felt her breasts smashed against the carpet, tighter at each breath she took. She was about to speak when she _felt_ something that made her stop: there were no pockets pressing on her back, and the nuzzles on the nape of her neck were now nothing like the touches she had felt at the door. No, the breath was warmer; his voice was clearer and the contact sent something trailing down her spine.

Skin on skin.

Somewhere during the chase he had forfeited his vest and more importantly, his mask. Lost in the pink locks of her hair, he inhaled, deeply before exhaling warmly against her. That scent, her scent – that succulent, delicious fragrance of hers – now fiercer slid inside his nostrils like the headiest of perfumes. She tried tugging her wrists from his hold, to no avail.

"Shhh." He gently hissed, cooing, as he brought her wrists down closer to her shoulders. "Stop fighting me Sakura."

"What are you doing?" Her voice was breathless, with the subtlest of arousal in her tone, mixed emotions. "I… you can't do this…"

"Why?"

The query was so softly spoken, so truthfully curious it reminded her of an innocent child for a second. It was slammed into oblivion the moment she allowed her cheek to press against the carpet, his nose that had been hovering close to the nape of her neck finding the little space bellow her earlobe, his bottom lip taking the offering – whether it was one or not – and gliding on the beginning of the corner of her jawbone, before his tongue slid out to taste the skin there, sliding further up to trace the back of her ear.

"I…We… I don't want this…" She managed, albeit shakily.

"Liar." He cut her rant before it became one, his hands on her wrists caressing the inside of them with his thumbs, feeling the strong heartbeat against the rough pads. His head moved for his mouth to slide down on her neck, the same strong beat against them, beckoning his tongue to taste it. "You want it. As much as I do. I can feel it." The brush of his lips against the throbbing vein evolved to a pressing kiss. "I can smell it." This string of words said in a whisper, again making every little hair on her arms rise: almost like they were trying to get her skin closer to his. "Stop fighting it. No matter what you say or claim, _my_ claim on you is already made. I _will_ have you tonight. I _will_ taste every crevice of you. I _will _be welcomed in your body Sakura, and you will _enjoy_ it. I will make sure of it."

He crowned the end of his words with a motion of his jaw, lips spreading at the side of her neck before she could feel his teeth pressing against her skin, denting it in a mock of a bite and a salaciously wet roll of his tongue over the skin between them.

She whimpered a moan, her fists clenching. His hands slid up her forearms releasing her wrists before one of them set on the floor, for his arm to prop his torso up – a soft nibble with a groan on her earlobe – the other hand drifting over her side and between them for him to tug at her obi. At that time the last shred of sanity from her seemed to kick in: he felt her bent leg moving – her left hand coming to the floor and pushing her up – as she shifted all her weight towards it, probably planning on bolting once more from under him.

But a strategist is always one. The coffee table was now directly in front of her and as he felt her backside propping up with her rising, he thrust his hips against her, causing her to fall against the top of the table with a groaned exhale, magazines falling to the floor along with the remote of the television set that had managed to keep over the surface at her first tug on the piece of furniture.

He pressed himself on her, pinning her to the table with his body, his legs between hers, his hands grabbing her wrists once more before fitting both of them in a steel grip on his left hand, and squeezing them under her – the feeling of her own hands pressed between her breasts and the table, that feeling that made her abdomen clench as his arm rubbed over her left breast, rough – one of his knees urging her legs to part wider.

They both fought – even if hers was such a feeble attempt that could hardly be called fighting – ragged breaths and little expletives and groans filling the air. She could feel his other hand was nowhere in contact with her but his arm was moving diligently, his forehead over the middle of her shoulder blades – 'where had his forehead protector gone?', she mused –, warm puffs of air against her skin; her bare skin, since all the shuffling had managed to drive the fabric down her shoulders. The edge of the table was biting at the front of her thighs, as she wiggled her hips, her cheek pressed on the wood, and suddenly his teeth entrapped the fabric of her short yukata's collar, pulling it down further – with such a deep groan it almost made her eyes roll back in their sockets – his lips pressing on the sweaty skin of her back once before a set of full tongue licks that made her pulse in response.

**ooooOo0o0oOoooo**

**Act 3 ****1/2**** - Conclusion**

"Kakashi…!" She groaned out. It was hard to tag the feeling it was filled with. His lips suddenly snapped from their contact with her, as he pressed his hips flush against her, and again the feeling of his arousal, so close to her, made a rasp moan rise from her throat. There would be no more fighting, at least to get away: he would have known that if he saw her face, her flushed cheeks, her already swollen lips, and the glazed look in her deep green eyes.

She was being driven by instinct now, primal raw want, which had risen as a top priority in her brain. Her hands twitched under her, as she pressed back against him, trying to set herself free, and feel his skin against her, grab fistfuls of his hair, mark his shoulders with tiny crescent shapes until they bruised. But more than anything else… she wanted him to kiss her.

She wanted those lips on her lips, to devour her, to taste them. She wanted to feel the soft stubble she had felt against the skin of her back seconds before, deliciously scratching her, turning her lips even redder.

"Kiss… me… kiss…" She rasped out between pants, before feeling his hand finally leave her wrists, as his face came closer to hers; one of his hands coming up her side in a groping caress, as her arms came back, one of her hands grabbing the side of his shirt, the other sliding to the nape of his neck, as her face moved against his, corner of lips meeting.

"You're mine." He heaved and the tickling sensation over her lips made her neck move in search for the warmness of his uncovered ones. Almost as if knowing this, his tongue slid out, pressing the seam on her upper lip, making her own pink wet muscle slide out for his taste. It could barely be called a proper kiss, as tongues laced together, in a game of tag where, strangely, he was the one being chased after, outside the privacy that pressed lips could provide. The first aggressive growl rumbled in her throat, at his elusiveness: wild and demanding, both her fists clenched on him pulling – hair and shirt – making his own hands come to hers, prying them off him.

It was a blur of motion after: whereas two seconds ago she had her breasts smashed against the table, with his warmth permeating every inch of her back, after what for her couldn't have been more then a few seconds – his hands had been everywhere, under the back of her knee, clenching on the side of her waist – she was now facing him, her heavily hooded eyes looking up into a pair of mismatched ones, her hands pinned at the side of her hips on the edge of the table.

Her legs automatically wrapped around his waist, since her arms couldn't.

She tried to push her hands free, as she stared into the depths of both charcoal and deep crimson – the sight of the active Sharingan mesmerising – her torso coming up from the table slightly by sheer abdominal strength, pushing his hips closer against her in the process, eliciting a hiss from both, her teeth clenching, lips crashing uncoordinatedly before he thrust his hips against her – the feeling of her warm body, the heat between her legs rubbed fully on his constricted erection jolting his hands in motion as her head tilted back, her arms coming back for her elbows to set on the table, hands now willingly clasped on the sides of it for leverage, as her hips and legs urged him against her, his lips catching her tilted chin in an unexpected but not looked down on offering.

There were curses to clothing, in both minds, as he let his lips press a kiss on the underside of her chin before sliding down her arched neck, feeling her rasp breathing vibrating against them, his tongue sliding on the soft – sweaty – skin as his hands expertly undid the yukata and obi, and slid against the heated flesh there, from her waist up, rubbing his thumbs over the clenched muscles of her abdomen until they reached the brassiere that enclosed the begging to be touched swollen mounds. Pressing caress, as thumbs slid inside the constricting piece of clothing, contouring the underside of her breasts, before pulling it up over them – a gasp from her at the feeling of the tight material rubbing against her more than sensitive nipples – and cupping them both in his hands, nothing short of greedily, as his lips swerved to the side of her neck and bit down.

Her body lashed in a pronounced arch of her back, her heels digging on the back of his thighs, her knees tilted outwards as his lips slid down towards her collarbone, one hand reaching around her torso for his fingers to meet the clasp of her brassiere. Too many clothes: he wanted to see the muscles move under the fragrant expanse of warm skin as he charged her body with tension. Feel them coil under his fingertips, feel the tiny hairs tugging up in goosebumps. Every little detail.

His lips continued their travel over her collarbones – with hints of tongue and sometimes scrapes of teeth – as the clasp was undone, with the soundtrack of their heavy breathing. His body continued swaying against her, rubbing, almost as if he couldn't stop himself from seeking contact, friction. His other hand, which had been massaging the pert breast but avoiding her aching nipple on purpose, slid to meet its sibling at her shoulder-blades' level, as he leant back: kneeled between her legs, bringing her torso up for her to sit on the edge of the table. Her neck rolled to the side and up for her to face him, her hands snapping to his still clothed shoulders, one of her feet falling to the ground for leverage, the other rising further up his thigh, hooking on the beginning of his buttocks, as one of her hands dove inside silver locks, with a crossover between a moan and a sigh slipping past her lips, her eyes meeting his again, fierce.

It was almost solemn, the way their eyes met and kept glued to each others' depths, even as her hair swayed at the almost violent disrobing. She tried to lean closer, but his hands – tugging at her yukata making her hands leave him for moments for clothing to slide over her slender yet powerful arms – those still annoyingly clad hands kept her away, as they rolled about her waist and once more coming up, his thumbs pressing on the hollowness under her ribcage. There was a flicker of annoyance in her deep sea-foam hued eyes, tantamount to the defiance and slight amusement on his mismatched ones as both her hands came to the hair on the nape of his neck, forcing his face closer, but the only result of that was him leaning back – withstanding the slight pain on his scalp from her relentless pulling – and an arched eyebrow.

"Ask me." She would never, for as long as she would live she was sure, ever cease adoring that tone in his voice now. That deep, untamed intonation so different from his usual casual speech.

"Kiss me." She breathed out, her voice alien to her own ears as her hands once more tugged at his hair, this time making him hiss, baring teeth, and the correlation to a gentle beast was not lost on her. His eyes closed for moments and her lips tickled to pass over the lengthy scar that came over his left eyelid and kissed the beginning of his cheekbone.

Cheekbone, jawline, shoulder, clothes.

Off, off, she wanted it all off. It was only fair, since she was completely bare from the waist up herself. Her hands snapped down between them, hooking on the hems of both the shirts she knows he wears, and pulling it up over his chest, her knuckles brushing tight muscles as she did, and now the tickle is not only felt by her lips, but by her tongue as well.

In a smooth but nevertheless quick motion, his hands move away from her to help the discarding of his upper clothing: the sight of the muscles as they contracted almost ripping a whimper from feminine lips, as her hands greedily palmed his abdomen and up to his pectorals, the strong heartbeat drumming against her palms, the length of her little fingers graced by the roughness of masculine nipples in her ascent. There are scars, thin lines that told tales of serious injuries, not blemishing his skin – in her eyes they are a part of him, and beautiful. Following this line of thought, her eyes snap up to his face, as her hands continue their rising over his collarbones – the coal coloured sweaters in a heap of fabric on the floor – rising up his neck, slick with sweat, up, cupping his jawline, feeling the soft stubble on her sensitive skin.

Here was Hatake Kakashi, kneeling between her legs, willingly, wanting her. Here was Hatake Kakashi, his mask gone, his hands on her skin, rising up her midriff, leather enclosed palms once more cupping her breasts – a soft grunt rumbling in his throat – wild silver hair seemingly wilder after the discarding of the sweaters, with the softest of colour dusting his cheekbones from arousal, his lips parted. Here was her ex-sensei, pressing his erection against her still clad moist folds: and that deep possessive feeling made her want to fight as much as surrender to him.

Delicious ambivalences.

Almost as if mimicking her gestures, the heels of his palms pressing her bosoms in an upward caress, his hands come to her own face, thumbs hooking on the underside of her chin and pulling her closer, until eyes lose focus, spread fingers holding the nape of her neck.

"Ask me." He says – demands – as if he hadn't heard her words before. He did. Still, the primal rush of listening to them is something he craves as much as her taste. He wants to taste the breath that carries those words of acceptance from her as his nose rubs hers with their closeness.

"Kiss me." She repeats, now in a feminine growl, leaning closer. She fails to see the devious quirk on the corner of his mouth at her tone, his thumbs pressing on the underside of her chin for his lips to set, parted against her chin, scraping the edge of his upper teeth on her skin before following down her jawline to her right ear, his left hand sliding down to pass the back of his knuckles over her nipple – gasp – before enclosing the flesh within his grasp, thumb pressing the hardened pebble against the side of his index finger's clothed base – moan.

"I am going to slide my tongue on your lips…" He whispered huskily against her ear. "I will gently suckle on them until they are flushed with blood and deliciously wet. Until your spine feels like it's going to snap in tension…"

She trembled, as those words made something quake within her, soft shaky "Yes…" leaving her like a mantra at each exhale, her fingers slipping down his neck, over shoulders, contouring them to clench at his biceps, revelling in the warmth coming from him. The side of her face nudged his, in a motion nothing short of feline, wanting those deviously moving lips on hers, to fulfil the promise she knew, _she knew, _he would live up to.

A whine escaped her, deep—or maybe it was more like a higher pitched moan, for his lips crossed over her cheek only to ghost over hers once, with the subtlest hint of tongue before his hand pressed on the middle of her breasts pushing her back towards the table, as his other set, palm faced up, on the wooden surface until the small of her back was supported by his fingers.

He followed her, his face diving in the crook of her neck – another bite – and with the same zeal worthy of the most diligent of cartographers, his lips and tongue left pressing kisses, licks on her shoulder, downwards following salient collarbone until it reached the dip between them – lick – continuing down, the tip of his nose following the path of his lips to the valley of her breasts, her deep breaths raising her skin towards the moist caress, her inebriated mind mildly complaining that he has yet to kiss her lips properly. His attentions swerved from their place in the middle of her chest towards her right soft mound, and before she even thinks of claiming the promised kiss, it melts against the back of her tongue: his lips clamp over the hardened darker pebble with a hard suckle that makes her gasp her breath viciously inside her lungs, choking the moan that wants to come out.

Her hands run frantically over his arms, over his shoulders, one keeping there, clawed and fully intent to leave dented marks, the other grabs fistfuls of his hair as his tongue prods the rough nipple between the confinement of his lips, making her muscles tense and her neck snap back in a beautiful arch. Her core clamps in wanton when she feels him move back pressing his hard abdomen against her as the trip continues, before her other nipple is grazed by a full tongue pass and a teasing breath over the moist skin making it roughen even more.

His chin scratches her skin at times, contradicting the softness of his lips and his tongue as their caresses come lower, and lower, over her midriff – and she listens to the unzipping of the side of her skirt between the moistness of his kisses and her vocalized breathing. Tongue twirls around her bellybutton, as his hands move for his fingers to hook on the sides of the top of her skirt – of her shorts, of her underwear – and he pulls them down, lips following the discarding, her feet both planted on the floor now for her hips to rise; be it to help or to keep his mouth on her she doesn't know.

His knees move back, as tongue moistens the skin of her right hipbone, a charcoal eye opening to glance at the cotton candy coloured trimmed hair between her legs, as his hands continue pulling her clothes off making her close her legs. His lips never leave her, following the path on the front of her thigh until it reaches her knee, his hands sliding the fabric down to pool at her booted ankles. He considers, fleetly, to undo the clasps of her boots and relieve her from them, but the heady scent of her arousal, of her centre is too strong to be ignored – his tongue rubbing on his palate demands it.

He straightens his torso, both his hands setting on her rubbing together knees, looking at the result of his labour so far, with the clarity only the Sharingan can provide: the naked expanse of her skin exposed to his sight glistening under the moonlight that seeps in from the windows, tiny droplets beginning to form over it. The fine hair at her apex appealing like candy to an infant – and he feels like the greedy one he never was – her heaving chest rising as her abdomen hollows out at the force of her heavy breaths. Her hands clasping the side of the table, as her head comes up, hooded viridian eyes speaking of want and sweetness and maturity and gods! - _want_.

It speaks to him, making him pulse, his aching member decadently prompting his mind into visuals of their joining. But an organized mind is an organized mind— he promised her a kiss.

The thought pulls at the corner of his lips, in a devious smile.

His thumbs hooked on the insides of her knees, and even if they pressed his fingers to tilt outwards he didn't let them, keeping them joint still. For as much as he wants to pull them apart, another part of his mind wrestles with him to take it slow. She whimpers, as her back again meets the surface of the table, her overworked abdomen needing a reprise from its clench to keep him in sight, and he leans his torso down, lips levelling with her knees, his eyes shamelessly eyeing the patch of rose hair as his hands pried her legs apart, slowly, breath abated as the sight was revealed to him.

A growl rumbled in the depths of his chest at the sight of moistness – some of it darkening the soft curls – and the correlation of her and candy danced in his mind, as he inhaled deeply. Such a delirious mistake that was – the moment her scent rose up his nostrils, the reaction of his whole body was nothing short of savage, the muscles on his back tensed as his spine curled, his hands on her knees clenching. His senses seized command of him, and the little control he had managed to hold suddenly slipped from his proverbial grasp.

The grip on her knees evolved to a sliding of leather on her inner thighs, pushing her legs apart roughly, one of his knees sliding over the carpet, and as soon as the space between his thumbs and indexes hit the very beginning of her inner thighs, keeping a firm hold on her flesh, he dove, his parted lips clamped over her lower silky ones with the desperation of a thirsty man, tongue lashing out in an greedy onslaught against her quivering folds.

She choked out a scream preceded by a gasp, as her back snapped in a taut arch, her tiptoed feet pushing her hips up, lifting her backside from the surface of the table only graced by her shoulder-blades that slid over it as her legs trembled: her hands clenching on the sides to prevent her from sliding from it altogether even if her palms were sweaty, her head dangling from the edge of it. Her heartbeat that had been racing thumped now violently against her breastbone and for a second she feared it would stop, as the warmth of Kakashi's mouth had closed in on her core.

Even if she had been expecting the contact – craving it – the moment he began his downwards travel on her body, the sudden contact and its ferocious nature had her mind reeling.

A beast, and untamed silver-haired beast wrecking havoc between her thighs, and she really wanted to growl as animalistically as he was groaning against her. So uncivilized, so raw, so primal, _**so damned good…**__!_

Her eyelids squeezed shut, so hard she could see tiny bright dots on their insides, as her hips ran as rampant as they could, pressing upwards and towards that marvellous feeling of warm slithering wetness teasing her entrance – nevermind the stress on her legs.

Nevermind her slipping hands, nevermind the loudness of her vocalizations, nevermind that his hands parted her to a point it grazed the line of discomfort: the growls that reverberated against her swollen lips as his tongue lapped and prodded and essentially _drove her wild_ was more than worth it.

She could feel the soft strands of his hair caressing her skin – how she wished she could delve her digits in it – as his fingers relinquished their hold, her legs closing minimally to ease the tension, and as she feared they would give up on her, she felt his arms moving before his thumbs hooked on the back of her knees and heaved her legs over both his shoulders. Bare palms, for he had discarded his gloves swiftly in his hunger to touch her again, that slid on the outside of her thighs – his mouth leaving her for seconds, for a bite on the inside of her thigh – before they rolled around her waist, pulling her against him again with almost bruising force, her legs tightly clenched on the sides of his head, her still booted feet crossing at his back, her hands on the sides of the table in a bleached knuckle clench and his tongue once more slid vertically on her intimacy.

Warm, wet, deliciously slick silken folds. His mind is blank to all but her taste, that heady scent that fills his sense of smell, as his tongue rolls around the hooded bundle of nerves preceding her entrance, half lidded eyes watching as her muscles undulate at each flick, his now bare hands on her waist sliding to the small of her back, pressing up to tilt her arched back further.

Her smooth inner thighs clench over his ears, and to his delight, the muffling of sounds – even if he relishes in her moans and whimpers – only enhances the wicked wet sounds of his fondling tongue. For some reason, it makes arousal roar even more intensely at his veins, charging his muscles with tension, his engorged desire surely weeping in the constriction of his pants.

Almost as if to quench his want to give in to his lower body's, his tongue once more rolls, now leisurely on the inner face of her folds, jaw moving in order to delve it deeper for moments before returning to his own mouth, his lips clamping over the swollen with desire nub and suckling at it softly, the softest hint of teeth that he presses on her heated flesh, as the underside of his tongue slides over it – and she trashes, moans, his eyes following the motions as eagerly as his mouth moves, her head thrown back, the dry gulping, the throbbing vein at the side of her neck.

She's close: he can sense it as his tongue once more craves for her taste and searches for it between her legs, shoving as deeply as he can, feeling the quivering of her walls.

More, more, his mind chants, as her breathed moans continue spilling from her lips, and his hands on her back lower her, as well as his torso until her backside sets again over the table, his hands now free.

A roving glance over her, as his fingers set on the top of her thighs and he pulls her towards him on the surface, for her head to set totally over wood; right hand coming close to his chin, for middle and ring finger tips to roll on her slick lips, as his lips against entrap her engorged nub in a suckle, before his fingers swiftly slide inside, making her scream out –the heels of her boots scraping almost painfully against the skin of his back – his other hand pressing in a spread hold over her crunching abdomen as her hands snap to his hair, clenching fists on it as his tongue relentlessly works against her, as fiercely as his digits pump inside her clenching walls, curling upwards and finding that which he had been looking for, stabbing at the point, in a two front attack she can do nothing about but give into.

And surrender she does, as her lips part soundlessly, her brow furrowed in a deeply agonized expression as he feels the first clamps on his fingers, like a mad wave around him, making him groan in desperation at the same time she growls out her release, her whole body quaking. Her hips push against him, her tensed legs pinning his head in place, as the motions of his fingers don't let up, his hand spread over her abdomen sliding up for a gentle cup of her breast, before fingers trap her nipple in a pleasurable roll.

She sobs half moans, half grunts, her hands sliding through his hair, passing over the messed silver locks frantically, nails scraping his scalp as the bucking of her hips calm, as do her walls around his slowing down fingers, that he slides from her core – his member pulsing madly, angered in jealousy of them – fingertips rolling over the wet with arousal and his own saliva folds, that his tongue once more laps in full passes both over his own fingers on her and the silken heated lips, his drenched in slickness fingers then leaving her and coming to his own arousal, for a rough palming of his member over clothing before index and middle fingers roll about the drawstring of his pants, pulling it undone.

Will he ever tire of her taste on his tongue, that taste that saturates his taste buds, addicting like a drug? Will he ever tire of the texture of her on his mouth, of knowing that her body convulsed in pleasure like that with his doings? Will he ever tire of seeing the blush covering her cheeks, the sight of her clenching muscles, of the abandon of her voice as he makes her ascend to that place where nothing matters but him?

Better yet, can he make her do it again so soon, but with the engorged flesh that his hand rolls about right this instant, in a half satisfying stroke over the pulsing column, whose tip weeps: moist that he rolls over the sensitive skin with his thumb.

**(End of Volume 2)**


	3. Final Volume

_**Anatomy Of A Plan **_

_A dissertation in three acts_

* * *

><p><strong>ooooOo0o0oOoooo<strong>

**| Final Volume |**

****ooooOo0o0oOoooo****

* * *

><p><strong><strong>ooooOo0o0oOoooo<strong>  
><strong>

**Act 3 ****2/2**** - Conclusion : Twist | Final |**

She can still feel the beat of her heart drumming on each and every vein in her body, as her lungs seem starved for breath that she pulls in shaky inhales and still vocalized little sounds of pleasure. His name slides in their midst, cut between attempts to rule her body.

The haze of pleasure prevents her eyes to manage anything more than half-mast, deeply sated, as her neck cranes to look down between her legs, catching the mismatched fiery look that almost rips one more moan from her tingling lips as her green orbs catch the telltale motion of his head rising slightly as he graces her with one more full tongue pass, his eyelids closing, a deep rumbling groan in his chest, the moist on his lips as the tongue slides inside them, only to slide back out to pass over the crevice where her pelvis meets the beginning of her thigh, followed by a nuzzle over her soft curls, almost affectionate.

His hand previously clenching his own flesh comes up – after his fingers slide the loosened top of his pants down – thumb slick with the proof of his own desire pressing against her bottom lip, and he watches, with a devious glint in his eyes, as her tongue slithers out to meet the rough pad.

Does she know, as her eyes slid shut once more, that _that _which her tongue tastes is _his_?

The edge of her lower teeth scrape over his thumb before her lips kiss it softly, and teasing himself – teasing her – he pushes the digit between her lips, that clamp around it with a suckle, her tongue rolling around it inside the moist cavity, and in his mind, the motion serves as proxy for his aching length.

His possessiveness rises again – no more teasing, there is nothing more preventing him from burying in her. The primal urge to see her come undone is sated for now, the kiss was delivered; he craves for her warmth under him.

His hands move over her midriff to slide over her upper thighs once, in a groping caress, pulling them off from his shoulders. Her lifeless legs barely able to feel as her feet hit the floor – the sensation of her inner thighs sliding over his biceps provoking a new set of goosebumps over her sweaty skin, before he raises his torso, making her hands slide from him and set over her own thighs; and she realises the back of her knees are set over the crook of his elbows, his hands set at each side of her hips on the table – she can feel his thumbs rubbing against her skin there.

Her eyes blink lazily, glazed, fixing on his face, drinking in the sight of his bare lips, parted, that he licks minutely before he rises on his knees, and the hands at the sides of the table slide over it: pushing her legs up and apart, as his torso lowers towards her, but not touching yet.

Her legs tremble, as the warmth of his torso hovers over hers, and again that tugging feeling on her skin rises as a wave. Her skin claims for touch, for the pressure of his skin on hers. Still drunk on desire, body lazy in the aftermath of orgasm, her hands come to his pectorals and slide over to his shoulders leisurely, but clench there, as one of his legs rises: and there is a shared hiss, coordinated in tempo, for as his face levels with hers, his erection brushed between her legs, sliding upwards on the sensitive folds, underside of his length smudged with her arousal, hot, so incredibly hot.

And she sighs his name, as hers echo in his mind.

His forehead falls over hers as both sexes press against one another – the pressure of her pubic bone against the underside of his engorged member – as his torso crashes against hers, full contact of skin flush against skin, breasts smashed again fit muscles, and he groans almost brokenly: his hips moving softly, her own hips pushing upwards having his arms as leverage, her hands sliding: one to the back of his head to again dive inside his hair – how she loved the feel of them sliding in the space between her fingers, how she loved the dampness on the nape of his neck – her other coming to press her palm against his cheek, her little finger playing with the silver hair close to his ear.

Her shaky breaths, her shaky fingers touching his face: and her hand rises for index to cross an imaginary line under his brow that upon reaching the middle comes down to trace his scared eyelid, so unbelievably gentle.

Like shifting waters the tension in the air seems to ebb away, and even after all the caresses shared, the bareness of skin, the frantic gestures almost violent in their animalistic nature that led to this moment, _this_ has the feel of a true intimate moment.

The way they exchange breaths as his nose nudges the base of hers, parted lips feeling each other's warmth, the rubbing of both arousals without entry, fuelling a distinct fire like no other.

She creases her eyebrows softly at the feeling, as his right hand leaves the table and slides to her hip, clenching there for a moment, as his hips grind against her once more, before it moves away from her, arm coming back to slide from under her leg – that wraps against his side, sensing the undulation of his side as his hips resume their motions – and his hand comes up to cup her cheek as well, thumb brushing her cheek before his face shifts, head tilting to the side for his lips to slant across hers.

Her heart seems to throw itself in gallop: his lips taste like her and him entwined. It's _their_ smell, _their_ scent, and a little squeezing feeling presses her lungs down as she feels his tongue gently gliding on the seam of her upper lip, reaching the corner and sliding inside, hers coming to meet him. Her eyes squeezed shut, as he lets it rub against and around his own. It's strange, how much a kiss seems to raise her want to a whole new level.

Even if his length still rubs her, teasing the bundle of nerves between her thighs; even if her body claims for him like it would claim food and water if starved, her heart soars and melts with the sweetness of his tongue, as it caresses her palate before diving down again to twirl against hers, jaws moving softly for lips to rub against one another as tongues dance. As his hand cups her face lovingly.

And lovingly it is. He didn't even know when the shift began: maybe it was when he felt her lovely perky breasts against his torso, maybe it was her sighs, maybe it was her gentle touch tracing the scar on his left eyelid, but suddenly the spiralling roar of arousal dropped down to a shimmer, as his heart slammed against his ribcage, almost as if reaching out for hers, so close to each other as they are pressed together, sweaty skin.

Maybe his raging member was appeased for seconds with just the sliding over her warmth, like a single touch from a long lost loved one takes away every bit of pain at contact. He doesn't think about it, he just feels the sudden reality that she is there against him, touching him, kissing him, and it's glorious.

She is there, under him, moving against him, and it feels enough. His own eyebrows crease, as certain words that were never uttered between them seem to be screamed in each gesture, in each sigh, in every little groan that escapes their pressed together lips: and it is somewhat scary and overwhelming and _right_.

His hand on her cheek slides to her neck, feeling the damp locks of her hair brushing his palm, as her arms both wrap about his neck and the kiss deepens even more: need to breathe forgotten, pushed aside from the sheer will their mouths have to make love to one another, without a need to battle for dominance.

The shimmering flame roars to a full-fledged fire again, blazing heat coursing through their veins once more, but this time it tastes… different. His arousal throbs for it wants more, the humid sleeve of her womanhood yearns to embrace it, and the soft motions of lips tongues and biting teeth become more demanding.

It's not violent: it's longing. It's not only their bodies that demand closeness.

Lips part for breath, heaving chests, viridian into mismatched coal and crimson. They roam over each other, silently communicating even if they aren't consciously aware of it – in fact they are not aware of anything else but each other.

His hand on her neck comes up to slide under her head, his arm tugging under her shoulder blade as she curls her shoulder to allow it, and his hips come back, until the wet tip of his flesh greets the eager to kiss lips of her centre. Breath forgone, as their gaze is not broken, and both pelvises move against one another, her tongueless mouth taking him in its warm tight slickness, in a single swift move, ripping a moan from both.

She envelops his flesh with hers, allowing him inside and the fulfilment of the feeling – the throbbing flesh within her, his flesh, his skin, _him_ – almost makes her want to sob.

There is no need to vocalize feelings or names because they have no names. Syllables of vocalized understandable patterns would only slaughter the true essence of what is happening.

His face dives in the crook of her neck, as he pushes himself deeper, almost like he wants to merge with her, to slide within her very skin. Her scent is still there twined with his, in the roseate locks he dives his nose within, his hand still on the table rolling to grope her thigh, hugging it – the warmth and wetness on their joint pelvises. For a lingering instant, even if his body demands release he stays like this, feeling her hands sliding over his back, up to his hair and down again, and for some reason he can't look at her. So he keeps his eyes closed and his face pressed against her neck, listening to her breathe, to her heart that at times syncs with his – to that soft sound that spills from her lips as her face moves for them to set over his hair.

She shifts, he groans – it sounds like a whine but it's too deep – like a wounded animal. And rising to the analogy he licks the side of her neck, the embrace around her leg tightens, and he slides from within her, torsos rubbing, before he again slams against her body, and it triggers a frantic pace to his hips. The sensation of the coil of desire tightening on the base of his spine one thrust closer to completion. She moans, and his cheek comes up to rub on hers, before lips again meet messily, as the leg curled around his middle tightens its hold: the leather of her boot sliding over his sweaty skin, her heel sure to leave traces on his lower back.

Tongues dance in an uncoordinated yet beautiful dance, inside lips, outside: it doesn't matter.

His eyes never open, and neither do hers, as both recede and meet at their pelvises: as he enters again and again, and like pebble after pebble on the water creates more and more waves, so do his thrusts wreck havoc inside them both.

The surface under her is hot; he is hot, in, around and against her. Her nails rake over his back, over twitching muscles, leaving crescent shapes that soon spill down his back, sometimes overlaying scar tissue in reddish trails over his pale skin. His quiet grunts soon spill unrestricted, and her lips end up sliding from his to his cheek as one of her hands takes a hold on the back of his neck, her foot on his back coming down for heel to hook where his buttocks meet strong thigh to push him inside faster than his hips seem to be willing to.

His responding groan is exhaled against her ear, and her own hips, even if pressed against the table force him up and deeper; as her lips kiss eagerly over his face, over his scared eye, over his brow, nose, and lips again before her tongue lashes out, and her hand on his hair fists it to make him arch his neck back. He does so, with a lustful hiss that jolts her tongue into action, over his chin, jawline, neck – following a path down for a bite where it meets his shoulder.

He reacts to it with despair – they are both in the brink of rising together – his hand previously cupping the back of her head snaps to the edge of the table instead, gripping it, as his other arm leaves the tight embrace on her leg for it to roll around her waist, hand clamping over her hipbone. Every bit of skin is slick and burning, he can feel his erection throbbing inside her contracting walls, as both her legs now wrap around his middle, and her breath leaves in harsh pants at each entry.

All the teasing, and that feeling that swells in his chest seem to conspire against him, as he feels the tight skin of his sack roughen even more, as he feels the dam whose lustful waters crash against weaken. For as much as he wants this to last, to prolong: as much as he wants to stay like this, burying within her over and over again, there is so much his body is willing to withstand.

Even the soft burns on his back from her nails' attentions is not enough to keep the inevitable end of this –if anything it only seems to help his hips' thrusting to rise in tempo and need.

So he gives up, breathing patterns erratic, moans spilling around them thick and perfect, and he can hear her smiling, hear their own joining, his own heartbeat – or is it both? – thundering in his ears.

There is a crack, loud for it doesn't belong in the intricate symphony they are creating, before he feels her almost slip from under him. Instincts work before he even acknowledges the source of it, her legs enforcing their grip around him as her arms snap around his neck, his arm around her waist tightening as his hand leaves the moving surface of the coffee table to grab her neck, but his knees fail him, and they both fall as the table legs issue another loud splitting sound from under them, his hand coming to the floor for stability and to prevent her from hitting her head.

His trembling arm doesn't hold up for long, for with the fall to the ground and the position of her legs around his middle angles her pelvis in a way that allows his pulsing flesh to stab at that glorious spot within her that makes her cry out. Damned be the table and the fall, right now, he only wants to ear that cry again, so his hips change angles in entry, once, twice, and there it is.

His hand on the floor slides up for his forearm to set over the edge of the carpet where it meets the floor in front of the couch and he lifts his torso minimally, as her hands clench at his biceps, and he thrusts again in that same angle, eyes opening to the sight of her flushed cheeks, her creased eyebrows, the halo of pink spilling haphazardly on the carpet and her reddened swollen lips parted for her moans to leave her freely.

Her back arches, her nails burry on his flesh and suddenly her breath ceases altogether as her eyebrows crease wondrously, her teeth clench, her muscles tense and the embrace of her walls around him – as he keeps moving, keeps giving himself to her – evolves to a clamp, and she nearly howls her release in a loud scream, her head trashing to the side, elongating her neck and it's the most gorgeous sight he has ever had of her.

So wrapped up in his watching of her rising, his own hits him like the force of an explosion that knocks breath from his lungs, as that coil around the base of his spine unfurls and he spills himself within her, thrusts erratic as he can barely ear his own voice leaving his clenched teeth in a deep salacious growl, that he muffles against her neck as he rides the wave crashing in every little part of his body.

Both bodies move, milking the sensation the best they can with shaking muscles and gasps for breath, beautiful in their almost clumsiness, divine in their want, if seen by anything other than the walls that receive their sounds and echo them back to their ears.

The feeling ebbs away, and then again it doesn't.

As their muscles still tremble, as his length still being wrapped by her pulses – making her lips curl in a silly smile against his hair as she responds with her own walls embrace – the warmth that wraps around their hearts refuses to leave them.

As her hands slide up his arms, over his back, in delicate touches, almost as if apologizing for the rough treatment of her nails; as his hand on the floor snake his fingers around the spilt pink tresses on the floor, and his lips keep pressing the side of her neck, feeling her little by little slowing heartbeat – as both their minds are still hazed in the lull that follows their completion in each other, those words, those that were never said, swim beyond the reach of both their ability to speak.

Her feet, still clad in her boots – her mind prompts not without a lick of amusement – cross to keep her heavy legs around him, just a bit longer. His arm around her waist doesn't leave, as the want to stay like this with her in the confine of his arms one more minute, _'just one more minute…'_ also fills him.

What this it? Was _this_ what he had tried to push away, disguised under the lust that commandeers his mind when seeing her? Was this what he had thought could never happen to him, for his heart was scarred and scared? Was this the reason why he had been so crossed over the Inuzuka's words and actions? Was this possessiveness more than the primal instinct over a mate? Was this will to stay like this, to keep her close to him—…?

She dares not believe what her heart whispers in her chest: that his look, that his unwillingness to move away from her is due to something else but the sated heaviness brought by orgasm. And her chest constricts in complaint, so she pushes the idea from her head and just… revels in his closeness for now. She is afraid to speak.

She has loved him for so long now, and that was the reason why she gave in to him, that she pursued him in her own way before he had surrendered - six months ago. It was what he had been willing to give, and she took it, never once demanding anything more.

They stay like this, both minds swirling with the implications of what happened, in that moment before he slid inside her, in what their eyes had said to each other.

Love turns geniuses into fools they say. If the walls that have seen everything between them – if furniture – could talk, if pillows could advice, they would have told them long ago this was not as sudden as he wanted to believe, and that what she wants, she already has in her possession.

But walls are quiet, furniture can't talk, pillows can't give advice: they are still fools.

She shields her heart before her eyes have a chance to spill tears for what she wants so much but can't ask – he opens his, because the realisation settles in his soaring heart.

But the Copy-Nin will always be the Copy-Nin: he can't really make himself say the words. But he can show her. He can say it in other ways, can't he?

His face comes up, his elbow pressing on the floor for his fingers to slide over her cheek, and her eyes open to look into his, her legs giving up as her feet slide to the floor, keeping them half propped up. The side of the table top is pressing against her right shoulder blade, but she doesn't really care about it at the moment.

'_This is what he is willing to give me. I need to stop wanting more and revel in what I have. It's already more than I could possibly hope for.'_

"…This roleplaying thing is actually pretty interesting." His rough voice makes her smile, a wheezed chuckle sliding from her lips.

"Well, to be honest, I think I broke character somewhere between the carpet press, and the coffee table." She murmurs with a coy smile – and he wonders how she can look so innocent even after all that they had done. "You on the other hand were the perfect big bad sensei."

He smirks mildly, his index passing over her forehead, dislodging some strands from their place over it. "I didn't see that as a break in character: the innocent little student _is_ supposed to give in at some point." He teases, his nose bumping into hers. "Next week it's your turn."

"Humm…" The sound rumbles in her throat as her hand passes over the side of his head, playing with the damp locks of silver hair. "Will you call me Sakura-sensei?" She dropped her tone to a sensual one.

He pulsed, mildly. God, that felt so good… "Maybe. Or you can be the crazy student that can't get enough of her sensei, so she decides to tie him to a bed and have her way…"

She giggled hoarsely. "AH! Admit it, you love it when I call you sensei don't you, you pervy smut-reading man."

He scoffed, even if a smile was tugging at the corners of his lips. "You know, there was a time when you would never think of saying those things to me… You should respect your elders."

"My _elders_ don't break my coffee tables with the force of their hips you know?" She countered with a little frown that deepened after a few seconds into his soft laughter. "Don't laugh! It's the second one you ruin!"

He brushed a kiss over her lips. "I'll make it up to you…" The breathed words caressed her tingling lips. She gulped a bit, feeling him pulse again, as his lips started kissing her face, forcing a random shake to rake through her body. How the hell could he still move…?

"You really… have to… stop doing… that." She said in between shuddering breaths, as she could feel his softening erection stir. He chuckled gruffly, his forehead bumping hers, as a shift of his body made her hips move on their own accord to accommodate him better.

"Do what?" He asked huskily, kissing the corner of her lips.

"_That_." Breathed, her hands hooking on his shoulders. "I… I am trying to be angry at you."

He chuckled again. "Why?"

"Because…" She stopped. He moved towards her right that instance, crowning a very nice grind with an induced pulse within her walls. Needless to say she lost track of what she was saying, settling with a hummed vocalization lost within another one of his chuckles.

"Because?" He moved his head back a little for mismatched orbs to meet viridian hooded ones.

"You ruined my coffee ta—" And he did it again. "Stop that…!" She said, even if her tone and the look in her eyes were all but scolding.

"That kind of order would work better if you looked at me angrily." He said matter-of-factly, with a smug grin in the end. Devastatingly young looking.

"You're cheating." She pouted.

"It would also work better if you hit me or something."

"I will do so when I get full function of my members."

"I think your members are working just fine."

She raised an eyebrow, as his arm slid from her waist, fingers caressing the side of her torso, sliding between the fluffy carpet and her skin at the height of her hip, cupping one of her buttocks swiftly. Her leg snapped up, booted calf hitting his own buttock, and sliding further up until the back of her foot was nudging him deeper into her.

"See?" His voice, meaning to be playful had a husky tone laced in it. "Perfect."

She clicked her tongue, trying not to smile, her right hand slapping his shoulder half-heartedly.

"That doesn't count. Those are reflexes. And you still owe me a table."

"…I can bring mine over. It's sturdy enough." He offered after hesitating, with a little shine on his eyes, slightly guarded.

She blinked, surprised. Her heart gave a complicated backflip in the confines of her chest.

"That… that could work. It _is _sturdy…" She stuttered, as the fading blush came to her cheeks with a vengeance. '_Is he…?_' She bit her lip, as another thing crossed her mind. She shouldn't push the issue, but… maybe… "But I'm still mad though."

His eyes that had been trained on her lip bite – how he loved it when she did that – come up to hers. He can see hope within them. His heart also throws itself in a slight jog.

"How come?" His tone drops to a whisper.

"Yeah… at the door…" She bites her lip again; her hand coming to brush his hair from his forehead, even if it only results is it sliding back in place. "…what if he smelt you?" She lost her courage, looking at her still moving hand, away from his eyes.

"He was too drunk to walk properly, and your scent was too pronounced for him to concentrate in anything else." He frowned softly. "Don't worry." He whispered while mentally cursing his own conflicting emotions, his eyes set on one of the intricate broken legs of the ruined table to his left.

"I'm not worried about me." She rasped out, slightly angry at herself for letting her hopes up. It was just an offer of a damned coffee table! The look in his eye was… it wasn't… "I frankly don't give a crap if anyone knows. We're adults. But you…" She frowned, her hands coming to the floor, as she tried to push her torso up and him from her.

He didn't let her though, pressing her body against the floor with his weight, his hands coming to hers and pushing them to set at the sides of her head. Her eyes snapped to his, her chest rising in small shallow breaths.

"I would actually like it if he had smelt me." He frowned minutely. "That sounded wrong." She would have laughed if she wasn't so shocked by his words. "That way he would stop dogging you, and I wouldn't have the need to chuck his head against something."

She could feel her breathing picking up. Did he just... say that? Was the opening of the door not an act? Was he really jealous? They never talked about exclusivity…

"I would never let him in you know… even if you weren't here." She cleared her throat as the words were barely audible.

"…Good." His eyes were fierce and filled with a sense of finality, which his next words crowned. "Because you're mine. No one else's."

And she knew, in that moment before his lips crashed against hers, that this was the closest to 'I love you' she would have from him. And it didn't matter, for her heart was more than able to translate them.

His doubts, as hers, flew out from their minds. Even left unsaid, at least for now, the feeling was there, felt my both.

He said them with his rolling tongue and with his frantic yet gentle caresses on her skin, which she replied to in kin, the moment he let her hands go. Before she had a sense of what was happening, he had pushed her legs to wrap around his waist again.

"Shower." He murmured between kisses. "For as much as I love to have my smell all over your skin, I think relocation is in order." He pressed his hands on the floor, pushing his torso up with a grunt as her arms wrapped around his neck.

She laughed, a ringing sound that make him smile in the midst of the arousal that was rising again. Still kneeling on the floor, he wrapped his arms around her - one about her waist and the other under her backside - viridian eyes catching the bandages normally binding his calves on the floor.

"When did you take those off?" She asked with a little blink of her eyes and a smile on her lips.

"When I thought I would have to tie your hands to the table to keep you from running away." He provided against her ear, as her head still peeked over his shoulder. She gasped in mock aggravation. He bit her earlobe making her shoulder curl slightly, before she laughed again.

"You know, we must be quite a sight right now." She said with a tinge of humor in her tone, her face coming back a bit to side-glance at him. She caught the quirk in his lips as he looked back at her.

"Naked, covered in sweat and still joint…?" He asked, rising to his feet, and kicking the loose pants from them.

"Well, there is that but…" She derailed breathlessly, as he started towards the bathroom: his steps making him shift still inside her in a goosebump inducing sensation. "We are naked… except for my boots and your sandals."

He chuckled, nuzzling her ear. "Kinky isn't it?" One of his hands rising to the bathroom door. She looked at him.

"Oh, Kakashi, wait!" Her head moved to look at her bedroom door. "We need to get some clothes."

"What for?" She looked at his smiling face, and couldn't help but smiling herself even if her eyebrows were creasing in confusion.

"Well, after the shower…"

"…I am going to take you to bed and rub myself all over you again." He cut her off.

"You're staying the night…" It was not a question, it was an elated affirmation.

"No." He purred against her lips. "I am staying for the weekend. If you'll have me."

She leant back a bit to see his eyes, and for some reason she wanted to scream like a giddy teenager, but she schooled her expression the best she could – not that efficient, since the smile couldn't be ripped from her lips no matter what – and she made a show of theatrical pondering, her head tilting to the side.

"Make me breakfast and we have a deal…" She purred right back at him, one hand sliding inside his hair, as he pushed the bathroom door open and stepped inside.

"Deal." He groaned out as his foot closed it behind them.

**(End of Volume 3)**

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.: <strong>Phew! +wipes brow+ Reviews are always appreciated. 3

**Fun fact: **This all came to be due to a single line that popped in my head. "This roleplaying thing is actually pretty interesting."


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